For the Uniform
by Hawki
Summary: It was bitter irony, really, that Shepard had saved the Citadel from a "geth attack," yet had fallen to an "unidentified vessel" less than a month later. What was even more bitter was how little the galaxy knew about the man. Yet maybe that could change.
1. Hannah Shepard

_A/N_

_At least at this time of writing, there's a number of entries in the _Mass Effect _section of my homepage that pertain to 'personal canon.' Who survives Virmire, whether the Collector base is saved, etc. Until recently, my take on Shepard's background was given as well. However, with Bioware effectively 'canonizing' femShep in addition to her male counterpart (long story-I'll spare you my stance on ME canon), I was left in a dilemma. As an inclusionist, I'm compelled to include whatever can be canon, but now instead of relying on the 'canon' Shepard (male, John, etc.), I was faced with the balancing of the scales. Whatever my stance, I felt that simply spelling it out in my profile wouldn't cut it. Hence came up with a short story to convey it. Show, not tell and all that._

_And for the record, I wish femShep was still blonde... :(_

* * *

_The following text is part one of a three part article, written by journalist Emily Wong. Published by the Future Content Corporation news service, 2183. FCC is trademarked and/or copyrighted, variably registered in both Alliance and Council space. All rights reserved._

**For the Uniform**

**Part 1: Hannah Shepard**

Arcturus is large.

Consider, for a moment, what _large _actually means. Large, as in having a diameter of approximately 14 million kilometres. Large, as in having a luminosity 100 times that of Sol. Large, as in being the hub of several mass relays, its light shining over all of them. Large, as in...well, large. And coming through one of these relays to the Arcturus System, it was all I could think about.

At least for a moment. I soon remembered why I was here.

I wasn't here for Arcturus, no matter how large it might have been. I wasn't here for the gas giant Themis, hanging in the darkness of space akin to the titan of its namesake. In a sense, I wasn't even here for Arcturus Station-capital of the Systems Alliance and home to its navy. What I was here for was on the human level. An _individual _level, regardless of species. For all the talk of humanity's place in the galaxy and our place, despite the fact that most people reading this will be of my own species, I do not feel this will be inaccessible to so-called "aliens," as if the galaxy was divided between us and them. The all too recent Battle of the Citadel demonstrated this, a battle that I barely escaped myself. Any number of stories could be written on the Citadel's reconstruction, but I wanted to examine the life of the man who made it possible for such reports to be written in the first place. A man pronounced dead, his ship destroyed, his crew scattered to the astral winds via dubious Council edicts. A man named John Shepard.

And Arcturus Station was perhaps the last place I could find those answers.

The station was built from metallic asteroids, towed in from other systems as per Arcturus being a system filled with mostly lighter elements. That being said, it did little to detract from its majesty, shining in the gloom, distinct from Themis and even the light of its host star. But I knew that this was but a facade in many ways. Arcturus was the home to the Alliance Navy's Fifth Fleet...or former home almost, since there was so little of a Fifth Fleet left. Much of it had been lost in the fight against the geth at the Citadel, and while it was an act that has effectively guaranteed humanity a place on the Council at this time of writing, it was at a high cost of ships, and an even higher one of lives. As asteroids orbit Themis (detritus from the construction of the station), so too do husks of human vessels drift through the Serpent Nebula.

Arcturus shone as brightly as ever. Its station didn't.

With all the speed that one who's travelled from one side of this galaxy to the other in search of a story, docking with the station proceeded with all the 'speed' that one was used to. Depressurization, decontamination, customs...actually, scratch that. Customs, I managed to skip. The brass knew why I was here, and apparently most of them were okay with it. That, or my contact was willing to defy authority regardless of consequence. Either way, I soon found bored baggage handlers giving way to a woman looking at me with great interest.

"Emily Wong?" she asked.

"Yes. And you're...?"

"Captain Hannah Shepard," she said, extending a hand in greeting. "It's great to finally meet you."

And indeed it was, a firm handshake and sore hand a few seconds later notwithstanding.

We didn't talk that much as Hannah led me through customs to the arrivals area, which allowed me to study the woman as best I could. Average build, a full head taller than me, dark brown hair of regulation length, fair features...average, average, average. Even average by human standards being made ever more average by shrinking genetic diversity. The only thing that I suspect wasn't average would have been the amount of medals that would have hung on her uniform had she been wearing it. But those inquiries would have to wait. Hannah knew why I was here. As interesting as it would have been to do a story on her, what was more interesting...for both of us...was the story of her son. John. A story that for most people, only started with him being appointed the first human Spectre. It was a story that had ended with the destruction of his ship, the _Normandy_. But where that story began...Hannah was the one person that could tell me, and she was more than willing to.

And buy me coffee as well.

"Brazilian coffee," the captain said as she sat down beside me with two cups of the energy-giving substance. "Only good coffee you can get nowadays."

That was true, at least as far as Earth was concerned. What was also true (I hoped) were the two documents I took out of my satchel. One a waiver of consent, that Hannah was indeed willing to tell her son's story. The other was the service record she had provided me a few weeks back. This was John's story. But I felt it fair that his mother should be represented accurately as well.

"Just a check-up," I said. "Just to make sure-..."

"That's wrong."

I blinked. "Pardon?"

"I'm no longer slated to be an admiral," Hannah said, pointing out to her rank. "I'm still a captain. And probably will be for some time."

As it turned out, Captain Shepard was content to remain a captain. She'd refused a position on the Admiralty and was slated to take command of the SSV _Orizaba_, a _Kilimanjaro_-class dreadnought. She'd thumbed a few noses in her decision, and was well aware of it.

"To honour John's memory," Hannah said. "Since the Alliance isn't intent on doing so."

"I think that's a bit unfair," I said. "I mean, I understand-..."

"Ms. Wong, no disrespect intended, but I don't think you understand as much as you think you do."

"And why's that?" I asked somewhat irritably.

"Because I don't understand," the captain said dejectedly. "I don't understand why no government in this galaxy is giving credence to John's claims. Reapers, the geth, the destruction of the _Normandy _and keeping its crew quiet...I don't understand any of it."

I decided to postpone pouring sugar into my coffee at this point. Hannah was a starship captain. I couldn't pretend to understand everything about her world. But in addition to being a captain, she was a mother. She'd lost her son. And it must have seemed to her that no-one gave a damn.

Did I give a damn? Did I want a story, or a eulogy? How well did I know John Shepard myself? I met him twice, but...

"Hannah...may I call you Hannah?" I asked eventually. "I understand your feelings, if from an outsider's perspective. But I do know that you want John's story told. And...well, I'm willing to tell it. If you give me the material."

Hannah smiled, and not just because of drinking the finest coffee Earth could offer (according to the Starbucks we were at).

"Well, that's a long story indeed..." she said. "But first things first."

"And what would be the first thing?"

"Well, for starters, John technically isn't my son at all."

* * *

_Continued next week in part 2._

_Also in this issue:_

_Reapers: Fact or Fiction?_

_Krogan Testicles: The Path to Reproduction_

_Starbucks: Over 200 Years Old and Still Strong_


	2. John Shepard

_The following text is part two of a three part article, written by journalist Emily Wong. Published by the Future Content Corporation news service, 2183. FCC is trademarked and/or copyrighted, variably registered in both Alliance and Council space. All rights reserved._

* * *

**For the Uniform**

**Part 2: John Shepard**

In journalism, one should always focus on the pursuit of truth.

Of course, how one pursues truth, and what "truth" even is, leaves more wriggle room than a thresher maw on an uninhabited world. All too recently, a certain reporter pursued the "truth" that it was the Alliance who saved the day at the Citadel and the pre-dominantly turian forces were a bunch of cowards. I don't know what happened to said reporter exactly, but I do know that a certain turian captain received indictment for "conduct unbecoming." But in all honesty, the Alliance Navy _did _save the Citadel, downing the geth flagship that had taken up residence within it. Or at least, that is my own humble viewpoint. My own truth that I pursued in the days after the attack.

The reason I bring this up was because at the very moment Hannah Shepard claimed that John wasn't her son, I thought that what had once been truth was now outright falsehood. She'd referred to him as "son" at every turn (or at least was her first choice of common noun as opposed to the proper kind) and I'd never questioned otherwise. I had no reason to question it. I was angry at first, but as Hannah soon explained, John, technicalities aside, _was _her son. Adopted perhaps, and not biologically related, but her son nonetheless. At least in her own mind. Her own truth. And with her explanation, my anger faded. She hadn't lied to me, because lying requires intent. She hadn't intended to deceive me. Still, she was willing to give her son's full story and despite my coffee getting cold, I was quite eager to listen.

"John didn't tell me much about his life on Earth," Hannah said sadly. "After what happened…I wish he had."

"You wish you knew him better?"

"Perhaps. But I guess like you, I just…want to know more. I respected his decision not to tell me, but…"

I could understand that. _I _certainly wanted to know more. And Hannah was willing to tell me what she knew…which was that John had essentially raised himself in the slums of Earth, falling into bad company known as the Tenth Street Reds. One of many gangs that one can find in our homeworld's sprawling megacities I'm afraid. With a population of over eleven billion, limited resources and unequal distribution of wealth, it's inevitable (for our species at least), that some get left behind. Even in the so-called "first world"-an archaic term that shows that even as we reach for the stars, some can't see beyond the clouds. John Shepard was one of thousands, perhaps millions who slipped through the cracks, eking out a living in the underbelly of a world that's seen better days. It's no wonder he never said much about it, I reflected. It was once said that he who increases wisdom increases sorrow. It was never covered as to what the effects would be if such wisdom was based in sorrow itself.

Yet somehow John not only survived that sorrow, he escaped it. From what Hannah told me, future commander Shepard escaped Earth and found himself on Mindoir, a farming colony in the Attican Traverse.

"It's not that uncommon really," the captain told me. "This close to Sol, the Navy finds stowaways every so often, even on military vessels. Add to the fact that young workers might be welcome on the unofficial level and…well, John had motives, means and opportunity. And he put them to use."

It seemed incredible to me. I'd done an article on child trafficking a few years back. There's estimated to be between one and two-hundred thousand human children within Alliance space every year, taken from one world and dumped on another. The host world varies, but the deposited one is usually isolated, far from authority and the perfect place to dump stowaways to do the jobs that others won't volunteer for. It's a problem that's part of a bigger picture, one that unfortunately extends to outright slavery in the Terminus Systems. But for Commander Shepard to _volunteer_? Perhaps I didn't know as much about Earth's poverty as I thought I did.

"John spoke quite fondly of Mindoir though," the man's adoptive mother told me. "Maybe it was because he volunteered, but I do know he was taken in my a couple. They treated him well…while it lasted."

"While it lasted?" I asked.

"John was born in 2154, and arrived on Mindoir at the age of sixteen," Hannah said firmly. "Do the math."

I did. And while my first answer was "2170," my next was "oh, shit…"

2170. The year in which Mindoir was raided by batarian slavers. The lucky colonists were slaughtered. The unlucky were subjected to brain surgery to control them better. "Justice," some batarians called it. "After forcing us out of the Skyllian Verge, we're forcing ourselves back in."

"I was serving on the _Einstein _back then," Hannah told me. "A carrier. That's how I met my son…or future son. He lost his adoptive family and was among those taken in by those bastards."

Hannah could have told me more, but didn't have to. I knew enough about Mindoir. The _Einstein _was indeed called in and marines were deployed, but the batarians made them fight for every inch of ground. All the while, colonists suffered. And while Shepard managed to escape relatively unscathed, many others weren't as lucky.

It was Hell. But the sixteen year old that Hannah adopted survived it. Survived two hells, all things considered. But what about-…

"Scars?" the captain asked me. "Perhaps. John enlisted two years later. We kept in touch, but…well, I don't know. He passed psych evaluations at least. And again after Akuze."

"Akuze?" I asked. "What about…oh, wait a minute…"

Hannah smiled sadly. "A third Hell…what are the odds, eh?"

Quite bleak, I reflected. Mindoir had been widely publicized. I remember watching news coverage as a young girl. But Akuze, I didn't learn about until I began studying journalism. How could I? Mindoir was a tragedy ripe for broadcast. Akuze however, while a tragedy, was also something of an embarrassment to the Alliance. And with only one survivor, there wasn't much to talk about, or people to talk to. But as I came to realize from someone who had free access to information within the military…

…Lieutenant Commander Shepard was the sole survivor.

Or simply lieutenant as he was back then. Part of a 50 man team dispatched to the planet of Akuze in 2177 to investigate a loss of contact with a colonization team? Another Mindoir? No. Rather, first contact with thresher maws. Contact that led to the deaths of 49 marines. Men and women who'd never seen such creatures, and had no idea how to fight them. The report Shepard brought back helped save numerous lives as other thresher maws were discovered on other worlds. Once again, he'd survived hell. And once again, he'd apparently escaped scarring.

Or had he?

I'm no psychologist. I don't know if the man I met twice on the Citadel was the same on the inside as he was on the outside. Hannah didn't either. She'd raised the boy for a grand total of two years, and whatever she'd seen of him then was followed only by the occasional extranet communiqué. I've searched for the truth my entire career, and yet this was one truth I would never discover. But I could theorize. And as her coffee grew cold in turn, I shared them with Hannah…

"Ma'am…" I said slowly. "I can't imagine what John Shepard might have gone through in his life. With all due respect to you and everyone else he knew, I don't think anyone could. But…well, for what it's worth, I think he managed to overcome his demons."

"Really?" Hannah asked, not convinced at all. "And why's that?"

"Because I know people. Some people don't escape their demons, some people embrace demons, and others send them packing. People like your son…acting for the greater galactic good, doing the right thing because it _is _the right thing…in a way, that tells me all I need to know."

"But you always need to know more. You're a journalist."

"That's right. And thanks to you, people will know even more about the man who saved the Citadel and God knows how many lives."

I don't know how much my words may have helped my contact, or even if they'd helped at all. But I like to think they did. I like to think that on some level, I'm able to make a difference. And as I let her compose herself, taking a sip of coffee that must have gone as cold as the depths of space itself, I believe that I did.

"You know, it's funny…" I interjected. "This story, I'm writing…you'll be the only person I'll be citing as a reference practically."

"Oh, I don't know," Hannah said. "I mean, I know the _Normandy_ crew's gone into hiding practically…still, you could always try Jane."

I blinked. "Jane? Who's Jane?"

"Jane Shepard," the captain answered, apparently surprised that such a question needed asking in the first place. "My daughter."

* * *

_Concluded next week in part 3._

_Also in this issue:_

_Earth: Princes and Paupers_

_Mindoir: Thirteen Years On_

_Thresher Maws: How Safe is Your Backyard?_


	3. Jane Shepard

_The following text is part three of a three part article, written by journalist Emily Wong. Published by the Future Content Corporation news service, 2183. FCC is trademarked and/or copyrighted, variably registered in both Alliance and Council space. All rights reserved._

* * *

**For the Uniform**

**Part 3: Jane Shepard**

In certain fields, one should be wary of making assumptions.

"Assume nothing," was (and still is) the creed of Doctor Amanda Kenson, based in the University of Arcturus. Admittedly the speech of hers I reported on a few years back was primarily centered on the "assumption" that the mass relays were created by the protheans and thus dated back 50,000 years, but it was a valuable lesson for her students, and a good reminder for myself. "Assume nothing. Approach the issue from an outsider's perspective. Have an open mind, even a blank one."

Ironic perhaps that now, within the same star system that I heard those words, I'd seemingly forgotten that lesson altogether. I had no reason to think otherwise, but even so, my assumptions were beginning to stack up. I'd _assumed _that Hannah Shepard was still slated to become an admiral. I'd _assumed _that John Shepard was her biological son. And now, I'd realized that I'd _assumed _that the woman sitting opposite me had no biological offspring at all.

"Didn't I mention Jane?" Hannah asked curiously, in regards to my perplexed expression. "Hmm…must have slipped my mind."

And mine. I had the copy of her service record, and her next of kin had been absent from it (Drew Shepard, her husband, had been killed in a patrolling action in the Skyllian Verge in 2171). I'd learnt beforehand that John had been listed, but with her son dead, it had left a void in the captain in more ways than one. It seemed superfluous to ask about a partner at the time, let alone a daughter.

I could have ended it there. I'd come to learn about Commander Shepard primarily. But Hannah seemed willing to talk, and let me record our conversation as well.

"Jane, my daughter," my contact said, drawing up a visual file on her omni-tool and showing it to me. "Or at least, my daughter as she looked when I last saw her."

I'm afraid I didn't get round to asking when that was. Another mistake on my part, but I was so taken aback by the image that it slipped my mind. She was her mother's daughter…to the barest of extents. Most striking was her red hair (practically non-existent outside gene therapy, and few choose red anyway) and her…hard, look. Like Hannah might have been had she not given birth once and adopted again for good measure. John had seemed at ease on the Citadel, in the company of humans or otherwise. Jane, however, struck me as the type of person who'd only been at ease if she'd been carrying a firearm with the safety off.

"I…don't suppose you could tell me about her," I ventured, giving in to curiosity. "I mean…this is about your deceased son, but…"

Hannah shrugged. "May as well. They were two sides of the same coin in a sense. Besides, you're not going to find much info on her anyway."

Was this legal, I wondered? Jane Shepard had been completely absent from extranet searches I'd carried out prior to this interview (not that I'd been searching for her specifically), and her mother's words were leading me to suspect that there might have been a reason. Still, Hannah had already turned down a promotion. Perhaps possible _de_motion didn't faze her.

"Jane isn't much older than John…" Hannah began. "Seven months, actually. Still…no offense to our mutual friend, but I think she grew up much faster."

"Not a proverbial Alice then?"

"No, and not Peter Pan either," the captain murmured. "If anything, Jane was…is…a Navy brat. A spacer."

I was familiar with the word. "Spacer" is a term used for individuals born and/or living on space stations or starships for extended periods of time, never staying in one place for long. The entire quarian race for instance, if you were inclined to extend the sense of the terminology. And since the Alliance Navy is almost entirely space based, the term "Navy brat" and "spacer" go hand in hand. It was a position that Hannah told me served Jane well. Maybe too well.

"Jane was far more comfortable with ships than people…" the brat's mother told me. "She…isolated herself. I think that may be part of the reason why I adopted John. I wanted her to have a brother."

"And did they get on?" I asked.

"If they did, they didn't show it, nor talk about it. But I can imagine what my daughter might have felt…"

"Go on…" I said.

I didn't grow up on starships or space stations. But as Hannah talked, I began to get a sense of what it might have been like, especially for a person like Jane Shepard. For sixteen years, she'd, in her own mind, 'served' the Alliance. There'd never been any doubt in her mind that she was going to follow in her parents' footsteps. And one day, another sixteen year-old became her brother. Put in the same position. Never mind what _he'd _faced, what hardships he'd experienced planet-side. For Jane, planets were irrelevant. So was John. And him enlisting the same year that she did…it was outright insulting.

But Jane would get her chance to shine, Hannah told me. A chance that presented itself in the Skyllian Blitz.

Occurring in 2176, the Skyllian Blitz was a batarian-backed attack on the colony of Elysium, a response to humanity's expansion into the Skyllian Verge. Drew Shepard had been killed in an operation against such pirates five years previously, and now, Jane was presented with the chance to avenge him, and distinguish herself from her brother. Successful ground and space operations by Elysians and the Navy respectively, and Jane Shepard found herself a hero. A hero awarded with the Star of Terra, in honour of her single-handedly holding off enemy troops.

"Jane did me proud, then…" Hannah admitted. "I mean, not that I loved John any less (and I think she resented me), but…well…"

"I understand," I interjected. "From what I know of the Blitz, anyone who took part arguably deserves a medal. But there's one thing I don't understand. If Jane became a hero…why isn't she known?"

Hannah's expression darkened. "Torfan," she said simply. "Torfan changed everything."

Torfan…the name was vaguely familiar, but…well, I admit, I don't know everything, and anyone who claims that they do is a liar at best and deluded at worst. Yet I still felt embarrassed. But as Hannah explained, maybe I shouldn't have been. The Skyllian Blitz was a triumph, something for the Alliance to celebrate, an example to the Homogeny (and all other 'evil aliens') that humanity was a force to be reckoned with. Torfan though, was best left forgotten.

In many ways, Torfan ended what the Skyllian Blitz had been part of-an undeclared war over the Verge. The planet was a stronghold for batarian criminals, with strongholds deep underground. They had to be removed. And Jane Shepard, the Hero of Elysium and a woman who lived and operated on the creed of "get the job done or die trying" was the logical choice. A soldier with a reputation for efficiency. Efficiency that, as Hannah explained, resulted in the deaths of every batarian on that world, even those who surrendered. And the deaths of three quarters of her unit.

One year before Torfan, John Shepard had lost his entire unit. Now Jane Shepard had gone through a similar experience. Only with her, she'd been the one who drove it. John Shepard was a sole survivor. Jane however, once the Hero of Elysium, was not the "Butcher of Torfan."

"And she didn't care…" Hannah told me bitterly. "Not for the batarians, not for her marines…she got the job done. That was all that mattered."

Hannah clearly didn't approve. And from what I was hearing, I didn't either. The brass however, were a different story. Some wholeheartedly approved such actions, wanting to give the Lieutenant Commander another medal. Others wanted to see her court-martialed. In the end, neither path was taken to avoid setting precedent. But Jane Shepard was no longer the shining star she'd once been. In one day, she'd gone from being the Alliance's poster girl to a dirty little secret.

And in the meantime, her brother's career progressed steadily. Unremarkably bar his survival at Akuze. And as I reflected on this, I began to wonder. John Shepard was chosen to become a Spectre-an individual authorized by the Citadel Council to get the job done, no matter what. Jane had shown herself to be capable of that…yet her adopted brother had got the job instead of her. Right now, this very second, Lieutenant Commander John Shepard was being mourned by millions, the Hero of the Citadel. In contrast, full-commander Jane Shepard was in some dark place in the galaxy completely unknown. How might she have felt about this?

"Good luck in asking her," Hannah grunted when I presented the question. "She isn't that interested in talking now."

And nor was her mother. And somehow, I could understand why. Hannah Shepard struck me as what some might call a paragon, a shining example of "the best of humanity" to cite those who insist that "humans are special." She had values, and from what I knew about the first human Spectre, these were values that she'd imparted into her adopted son. Yet Jane Shepard, her own flesh and blood, a girl she'd raised for eighteen years had turned away from them. Gone renegade. Had become the opposite of her brother in every way.

Two sides of the same coin indeed…

Maybe it was a good sign, that Lieutenant Commander John Shepard was given Spectre candidacy. Maybe it was a sign that even now, in a galaxy of woe from within and without, compassion is a valued trait. Maybe it was a sign that the Council would accept an individual they could control. Maybe I was overanalyzing. But there was one thing I did know above all else…

I needed another coffee. One to drink while warm.

In order to toast two lost children, I think we both needed one.

* * *

_Also in this issue:_

_Geth and Batarians: The Final Solution_

_Humans are Special: The Words of Pope Leo XIV_

_Conspiracies, Citadels and Councils: The Inside Story_

* * *

_A/N_

_Well, that's that done. Solidifed personal canon, obeyed to the creed of show, not tell (hopefully) and even more hopefully, got a half-decent fic out as well._

_In the realm of shameless plugging, I currently have one other _Mass Effect _story on my 'to write' list, said story being titled _Hand of Steel _(see homepage), OC-centric and set prior to the events of ME1. However, that's awhile off, and I'm currently working on a _Sonic the Hedgehog _fic titled _Heads or Tails.

_Or maybe after this, I could start writing tabloids. 0_0_


End file.
